


Anyone But You

by GreyGarnet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyGarnet/pseuds/GreyGarnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one month since the fall. John's taken to drinking, and nothing seems to fill the void. That is, until a stranger at the bar suggests a ....different approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyone But You

_“Goodbye, John”_  
The ringing. The ringing in my head. It was like some godforsaken firing squad in my brain. The torture of my own thoughts prevented me from forming of any kind of thought that doesn't revolve around him. Sometimes these thoughts made me feel so pathetic; making me miss him so much I felt my own breath forced from my lungs. It seemed as though the only notions permitted in my mind these days, aside from the torturous flashbacks, are desperate threats and bargains with some unknown force. I'd offer anything and everything, just to have him back.

It had been one month. Since he was _taken_ from me. Stolen, like a clear summer's day suddenly swept away by a sudden, furious downpour. And the storm had never stopped. I'd be damned if it does. Because the day I stop loving him is the day I stop living.

The incessant prodding of the bartender eventually managed to drag me from my thoughts.  
“Will you be having anything then?”

I looked up at him. He wore a half sincere smile, probably more out of recognition than anything else. It was my fourth time here this week, and it was only Wednesday. I sighed quietly, offering a pathetic, brief smile in return, purely out of courtesy. “Newcastle, thanks.” He nodded and turned away. I wondered what it might be like to be him. To constantly look at defeated faces. To most, he's a saint- providing the magic solution to drown out the pain, at least for a night, and if they're lucky, a sounding board for their woes.

Well, damn him. Damn the bartender. What did he know? What in hell gave him the right to share his misguided sympathy, his _pity?_ Did he know what it was like to watch what _defines_ him slip away?

Moments later my tall was set in front of me. The bartender had set it there and left. No eye contact, no sympathy. Perhaps each customer gets a minimum of one sympathy glance per visit, I thought venomously. Or, perhaps the fact that I had been to this bar every night for the past thirty days gave the bartender reason enough to know I was in too deep. One glance was all I could take.

Sighing heavily to myself I took a long drink of the ale, the heavy, slightly sweet flavor slowly doing its job. Numbing the pain.

I mentally forgave the bartender. I shook my head at the counter, my mind back before the firing squad. I needed someone to blame. Anyone would do. Even a friend. I reluctantly thought back to just an hour before. She had tried to stop me from going out again, Mrs. Hudson. She claimed this wasn't the correct way to heal. The drinking.

Well damn Mrs. Hudson.

There was no right way to do this. There was no quick fix, no remedy, no bloody miracle that could possibly even begin to fill this void, this _missing piece._ Just as I had begun mentally scorning Mrs. Hudson I caught myself. _No, John,_ I thought regrettably, _She means the best..._ I mentally apologized to the second victim of my misguided anger.

_Well John you've eliminated the barkeep and Mrs. Hudson as potential culprits. Who's next, Molly? Lestrade?_ I grimaced as my conscience mocked me. My own thoughts had turned on me. _And there's always our prime candidate..._ I winced, knowing damn well where my thoughts were headed. _Doctor John Watson. You could have stopped him. But you let him fall._

I took another swig of beer. Tonight was bound to be particularly painful. _No...I couldn't save him. He just-_

_He just what? He told you to stay, and you sat like a dog._

My mental debate carried on for quite some time, before finally, myself and I managed to agree on something.

My hand clenched into a tight fist as my mind flashed to the image of a man's face. No, not a man. A _monster._ A _creature,_ twisted and vile, a man who was the eye of my storm.

_Moriarty..._

_He did this to me...to him. He drove him to this..._ I felt my fist pound on the bar rail loudly, causing the bartender to sigh in annoyance. I noticed the other patrons of the crowded bar shoot me a mixture of glares and looks of concern or fear. I also recall promptly deciding to not give a damn. My thoughts fueling my anger, I almost wanted to hit something, or someone.  
 _Breathe...come on, John, breathe...don't lose it just yet. It's only eight o'clock. ___

__“Just drown it.”  
I had hardly noticed the man sitting next to me until he spoke. I took a moment to study him, a habit I picked up from a certain someone. He wasn't a regular; I'd been coming here frequently enough to know all the full timers, and his was definitely a new face. He was tall and lean, yet built like stone; he could probably snap me over his knee if he had a mind to. His face was handsome, with green eyes and pale blonde hair, this man instantly made me feel as insignificant as a house cat next to a tiger. The stranger continued, gesturing towards my drink. “What you've got going. Just drown it.”_ _

__I stared speechless for a moment. I smelled the alcohol on him, he was drunk, if not nearly so, and more importantly, I noticed the man's familiar dog tag . Admittedly, it caught me by surprise. “Colonel?”_ _

__He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah. Moran. And?” His voice was low, and frankly, seemed a little more judgmental than I was comfortable with. Then again, it may have been the liquor talking, I mused, noticing his hand lazily stirring his glass of what appeared to by whiskey. _Moran..._ I thought to myself. The name didn't sound familiar but I couldn't shake the feeling it held some sort of importance._ _

__I nodded towards him in respect. “I'm a military man myself...” I said, probably more nervously than I intended._ _

__He grunted in response. “Cheers,” the man said gruffly before throwing back the rest of his drink._ _

__Something about him was familiar. Not the way he looked, no, but what was it? His actions? Maybe I was seeing things. Or maybe military men just naturally relate to each other. “Moran was it?”_ _

__“Sebastian,” he stated in reply, nodding at me in greeting._ _

__“John.” I took down what was left of my beer. “....So?” I asked casually, using the universal pub-goer's tone for 'I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours' ._ _

__Sebastian sat silent for a moment, as if waiting, choosing his words very carefully. “Someone _died,_ ” he sneered. I was surprised his glass didn't break under his tightening grip. He looked down at his empty glass, his expression fading from violent, to a heart wrenching loneliness. “Someone who mattered.”_ _

__I looked away. “My friend, he...no” I hesitated. _'Friend'_ didn't seem to describe what Sherlock meant to me. But then again _best_ friend didn't seem to get the job done either. I noticed Sebastian waiting for my response; 'best friend' will have to do. “He was...my best friend. He, ah...” I didn't want to say it. I've been dodging the word for the past month. I shook my head and looked away. “He's gone.” And after that, looking back at his face, it suddenly felt as if I was looking in a mirror._ _

__I watched as his lips turned to a twisted smirk. “You love him?” he added, barely above a mumble, before stifling a grimace. He took another desperate drink of whatever was left in his glass; mostly melted ice._ _

__My hands balled to fists. Was he making fun of me? Truthfully, I debated punching him, but two things stopped me. First, the man was much taller than me and could – and more than likely would – kick my arse to the ground. And second, he was staring at me, waiting for my answer, looking almost hopeful._ _

__He was serious._ _

__After a moment of thought it occurred to me that he was seeing just how much in common we had. Apparently it turned out to be more than I expected. We both had lost someone, for him it was someone I can only assume he loved, and for me...I was suddenly unsure._ _

__And then there he was, as if in retaliation to my doubts, Sherlock's image in my mind. I did care about him. Nothing could change that. But _love?_ Sure, I loved him in the sense that one loves their best friend but.... I felt my heart start to beat a little faster. Not quite drunk enough to have this conversation with a stranger at the bar._ _

__Looking back at him again I noticed his twisted smile had morphed into something much... _softer,_ as his eyes suddenly moved back to his glass. He had been studying me, I noticed, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had been heading._ _

__“Me too.” He said flatly, forcing a gloomy grin at me._ _

__“No, no, we weren’t-- I don't...”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah. Neither were we, and neither do I,” he said, raising his eyebrows sarcastically, shooting me an irritated glance. God I was a bad liar. “He was....” Sebastian began slowly, an amused smile playing at his lips. “He was something else.” He frowned and looked back at me, with that same damn look in his eyes I got I had seen in myself when I talked about _him.__ _

____Maybe...  
_  
This was going to be a long night. He raised a hand at the bartender. “Shots.” Sebastian smirked and sat back, sighing to himself. _

__“Cheers,” he said as we raised our glasses slightly, sharing a knowing look before throwing back our shots. He took it well, barely showing any emotion while I pathetically gagged on tequila. Before I could even catch my breath, he barked for another._ _

___Here we go._ _ _

___Three shots later, Sebastian was very, very drunk, and everything seemed to slow down._ _ _

__In the beginning we didn't even talk. Just drank, and offered shared glances of sympathy here and there. And when we did finally begin to talk, we did and said everything we could to avoid the pain plaguing our minds. Until of course Sebastian decided we were drunk enough to discuss it._ _

__“You-...You know...” he slurred at me, at a much louder volume than was necessary. “Jim couldn't have done _shit_ without me,” Sebastian continued, drunkenly attempting to keep his volume under control. “He thought he was so...god, that was all bull-shit, _he_ was bull-shit,” he rambled on, sloshing his drink lazily around as he spoke. “Bet yours is the same, yeah? Running around, thinking they're all _that_ when really they're just as lost as the rest of us.”_ _

__I sighed, holding my head. I was getting dizzy, this was more alcohol than I could usually tackle in a night. “N-nah...no, no.” I shook my hand at him, nearly slapping the man in my drunkenness. “He... he...” I repeated myself for over-the-top levels of emphasis. “Was _brilliant.” Of course. _Sober John snapped, somewhere in the back of my mind. _After all that all you can do is sing the praises of Sherlock bloody Holmes.____ _

____“And I almost followed him,” Sebastian continued, bringing John out of yet another argument with himself. He seemed shaken as the words passed his lips. “But, oh no, he wouldn't like that now, would he? _That's not part of the plan,”_ he sneered, his eyes taking on a moment's fury, only to quickly melt away into something new. Something soft, and very lonely._ _ _ _

____I shifted awkwardly. Followed him? The man was clearly talking about suicide and I wasn't quite sure how to respond. Sherlock's death had devastated me, left me in ruins, but the thought of suicide had never crossed my mind. It was something I was almost proud of, in a sick, twisted way. Sherlock had become my life, and now my life was gone. What more could death bring that he didn't already feel? I threw back the last of my shots, wincing at the burn. “God, I miss him.”_ _ _ _

____“...every damn day,” Sebastian added solemnly, motioning at the bartender for more, only to be shot down. Last call? Was it really that late? Looking around I noticed the last patron, other than the two of us, walking out the door. I sighed, and got to my feet, nearly stumbling out of my chair._ _ _ _

____“Hey, uh...been great,” I said slapping Sebastian's shoulder lazily. “And thanks, you know. Best of luck,” I slurred as I walked out the door I was met by a blast of cold air, the icy wind clearing my head, just a little. I looked down the street, no cab. _Brilliant._ The flat wasn't horribly far, but a cab was certainly preferable in this cold. I sighed to myself, and started walking._ _ _ _

____The streets were dark and empty, which really wasn't all that strange considering it was two A.M. on a Thursday night. Had I not been this tipsy, I probably would have noticed Sebastian Moran sooner._ _ _ _

____He had been following me since the pub, I assumed, but I didn't notice until his hand was grabbing my shoulder, turning me around, and slamming me against the cold brick wall of a closed butcher shop. I didn't even have time to react before his lips were against mine, a desperate grunt escaping him before he continued his assault, roughly biting my lip, demanding entrance. I initially thought to shove the bastard off, but god, he was good. _Warm._ He had me pinned against the brick, his tall frame towering over me. He pulled away for half a second to catch his breath, and just like that he was back again. On my lips. I felt his tongue trace my mouth, surprisingly gently. I could feel him move to deepen our kiss until Sober John finally chimed in._ _ _ _

____“Get the _fuck_ off..!!” It felt like I was on auto-pilot. My hands grabbed his collar, shoving him off with as much strength as I could muster. “What the-” I spat, catching my breath. “What the _hell?!”_ I shouted at a more than likely inappropriate volume for this hour. He stumbled as I shoved him off, and just stood there. _Staring._ I stared back, mouth agape, at an utter and complete loss. But that look in his eyes....it was hungry._ _ _ _

____Sebastian started to pace, grumbling incoherently and glaring at me, that hungry glint still in his eyes. He looked like a caged animal, a beast. Like a tiger that hadn't been fed. I had every opportunity to remove myself from the situation. To run off, or punch the bastard. But I didn't. Instead I just stood, watched, and waited. After a good five minutes of dreadfully awkward silence, Sebastian looked as if he was about to say something. Instead, he opted to shove me back against the bricks, and rather painfully at that. Seconds later his mouth was back on mine._ _ _ _

____And _God,_ he was ruthless. He forced his tongue in my mouth, exploring and massaging my own, earning low, and admittedly, pathetic groans from me._ _ _ _

____Regardless, the assault was nowhere near over. Soon his hands were entangled in my hair, and the passionate kiss morphed into vicious bites on my neck, drawing blood and _growling_ against my skin. I could feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, and his hips, now rocking against mine._ _ _ _

____I tried to pull him off again by raking my fingers through that blonde hair of his. I tried to make him stop by biting his lips when he nipped at mine. And I definitely tried to discourage him by groaning his name when he bit my neck. In hindsight, my methods may have been encouraging him. Slightly._ _ _ _

____Cue sober John._ _ _ _

____“G-get off...” I gasped, feeling his cold hands shove down my trousers. “Sebastian, _stop.”_ I finally snapped, stopping the drunken man in his tracks. He stared at me for a long moment, his hands half-way down my pants and his eyes boring into me. Catching my breath, I noticed him grimace. He was fighting this, just as I was. But there was something else, something horribly desperate in his eyes, something that reminded me all too much of myself._ _ _ _

____“Please...” he grumbled, his voice husky and low. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he inched closer to me, his rough lips hovering just above mine. “I need you...” And what he said next, no matter how many times I re-live it in my head, will always take my breath away. “I need you to be him. Be Jim. For me.”_ _ _ _

____I hesitated. What could I say? He was using me, to fill the void. I squirmed awkwardly against him. Why wasn't I more angry with him?_ _ _ _

____He cocked an eyebrow. “Well? We doing this or not?” He seemed almost embarrassed._ _ _ _

____I bit my lip anxiously. The man probably wouldn't take rejection too well, especially not like this. And more importantly, Sebastian could give me what I wanted. What Sherlock could never give. “Only if you return the favor,” I breathed hesitantly. That was all it took._ _ _ _

____With that, his lips were back on mine._ _ _ _

____The third kiss was rough, as expected. He bit and sucked ravenously, rarely giving me a chance to keep up. It really had been too long since I'd been properly snogged, although I'd hardly call this proper. And of course, right when I mustered the courage to fight back he softened, his rough lips tentatively resting on mine as his hands ran down my chest. He eyed me for a moment, and took my hand, guiding around the corner into a darkened alley._ _ _ _

____I was about to protest but was silenced by his lips, his tongue dancing with mine until he pulled off, gently turning my body to face the brick. I felt his broad chest press me against the wall, and more importantly, I felt his _eagerness_ press against the small of my back. I think I felt the color drain from my face. How in God's name was _that_ supposed to...I dismissed the thought. _ _ _ _

____His hands drifted down my sides, resting for a moment at my hips. His fingertips traced along my trousers until finally he shoved them down, pants and all. He took me in his hand suddenly, gripping me tightly. I hadn't realized how hard I was until he touched me, until his hand slid slowly from base to tip, sending a rush flying through me._ _ _ _

____His lips hovered above my ear, his hot breath pouring into me. He rocked our bodies gently, the heat between us growing rapidly. I found if I pressed back against him, just right, he would groan huskily. It was usually inaudible, but sometimes it was a low, very distinct name. “Jim.”_ _ _ _

____It was then that I finally allowed my mind to wander. To think, that it wasn't Sebastian who was stroking me in the night in an abandoned alley, who was making my heart beat a million times a minute. It was _his_ hand, _his_ breath. _Him. Sherlock._ God, just the thought of him, his face, sent me groaning desperately._ _ _ _

____I imagined his lips above my ear, whispering nothings as his hips rocked with mine. His hands, long and slender, stroking and teasing my cock, making me beg. The only thing I couldn't manage to see was his eyes- those deep, perceptive eyes. My mind couldn't reach them._ _ _ _

____I whimpered pathetically, snapping back into reality as his strokes came to a stop. I felt his knee slip between my legs, nudging them apart. I obliged, but I'd be lying if I said my body didn't instantly tense, the hairs on my neck rising. As if sensing this, I felt a trail of kisses down my neck, and teeth nipping my collar bone. It worked, I became lost in him again. No. Not him. I became lost in _Sherlock_ again._ _ _ _

____It was Sherlock's digit that I felt slip inside of me, and just as I adjusted, another. I felt him gently twist inside me, moving slowly and stretching me, god knows I would need it. I panted like a dog in heat as he fingered me, his fingertips occasionally brushing that spot, making my toes curl. After a few moments he deemed me ready, and removed himself, rolling on a condom. I felt his breath return to my ear, that _carnal, wild breath._ He paused for a moment, and slowly pressed his head into me._ _ _ _

____God, he was thick. I heard him breathe heavily, pausing with every bit of him he managed to slide in. If it weren't for the lube on his condom, this would be damn near impossible. After a good few minutes, he was fully in, his cock completely filling me. We didn't move at first, just stayed there, our breath heavy, and our minds drifting to the void that they had left._ _ _ _

____I felt a sob growing inside of me until he suddenly, without warning, began to move. He was hard and rough, like everything else so far. I instinctively clenched around him, earning a low growl from Sebastian._ _ _ _

____Despite the roughness, his body was was rhythmic, deliberate. It reminded me of _him._ This is how he would...no. _He_ wouldn't. But that didn't mean I couldn't pretend, for just a bit longer. And right when it seemed I could match his pace he hit that damn _spot,_ making me cry out like a bloody girl against the brick. It was humiliating on some level, but _God,_ I found myself mentally pleading, _please God do that again.__ _ _ _

____As if reading my thoughts...Or had I said it out loud? In hindsight, I was groaning like mad, and it could have slipped in without my attention. But do it again he did. And again. I heard him growl behind me, his lips never far from my ear, as he reached around to my front and firmly grasped my cock, which had been neglected up until this point. His rhythm was _perfect,_ his tightening strokes matching the rocking of his hips exactly, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me._ _ _ _

____God, I was close. So close. I was about to voice this past my lust drenched breath when I felt his _damn teeth_ sink into my neck. He was not holding back, breaking skin and drawing blood. I heard his muffled groans from past my skin, his thrusts suddenly erratic, and he came, suddenly long and slow. Feeling the condom fill inside me, Sebastian paused, panting manically into my ear, his hot breath washing over me. His low voice murmured that name again _Jim,_ briefly shattering my image of Sherlock being the one standing over me. His voice was suddenly full of passion, and the name he muttered...he spoke it like it was all that mattered. Like a treasure he wanted so desperately, but was just out of his reach. I couldn't help but relate. _Sherlock...__ _ _ _

____Unfortunately for me, his orgasm brought a sudden halt to his strokes. A small, unintended whimper escaped my lips, which seemed to drag him back into reality. He worked me stronger and faster than ever, seeming almost angry. He was still inside me, the combined sensation of his hand, his cock, and his breath starting to send me over the edge when... ____ _ _

______“Sherlock....!”  
_  
I came hard, harder than I can ever remember doing before. I panted weakly beneath him, initially satisfied until I realized something had felt very, very wrong._ _ _

____“What did you say...?” Sebastian's low voice was suddenly menacing. He yanked himself out of me, sending a slight twinge of pain up my back as he flipped me around, his hands on my shoulders, and shoving me against the brick wall. His eyes pierced into mine, like a tiger with its prey. It was truly terrifying, my heart raced. “Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” he repeated, his voice absolutely _dripping_ with more hatred and venom then I believed possible in just a voice._ _ _ _

____I could only nod, slowly, my eyes wide with fear. He stared back at me, sloppily disposing of the condom and pulling himself back into his jeans, his breath shaking with what I could only describe as immense fury. “John...” Sebastian spoke slowly. “John _Watson,”_ he hissed, looking at me with such hatred, but behind that, something more. Something sad, confused, and most distinct, terribly, terribly lonely._ _ _ _

____I nodded again, my voice coming out in a quiet, pathetic stammer. “I....” That was all I could manage. I collected myself, adjusting my clothing, not taking my eyes off Sebastian. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side. My mind finally decided to go searching for an explanation, but found nothing. _Sebastian Moran..._ an old client? Someone Sherlock had put away? Try as I may, the name didn't ring any bells._ _ _ _

____Before I could think further on the matter, a massive, sharp pain snapped through my face. _He fucking punched me._ I was caught so off guard, I stumbled, barely catching myself on the brick wall. Before I could say anything, before I could, _think_ anything, he let out a heart wrenching scream. It was short, cut off by himself as he raked his hands through his hair, shot me a last, utterly hateful glare, and stormed off to god knows where. He didn't look back._ _ _ _

____I slumped to the ground. Too many thoughts raced through me, and too many emotions overwhelmed me. I wiped the blood from my lip. He had given me what I could never have, a dream, a fantasy. I like to think I had done the same for him, but given his sudden fury, something obviously went wrong. Very wrong._ _ _ _

____I sighed what I thought was my breath bottled up inside, but was really a miserable, stifled sob. This was a mistake. I needed help, I needed Sherlock. Now more than ever. But instead, there I was, slumped in an alley, my head buried in my hands, hiding the tears as I imagined what could never be._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you for my roommate & inatrice, for giving this a once-over beforehand. :D


End file.
